


Can't You See It's We Who Own The Night?

by thaxatos



Series: Inspired by Songs [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Camping, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Musical Instruments, Oikawa plays the guitar, Slow Burn, this is really sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 13:04:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14136615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thaxatos/pseuds/thaxatos
Summary: Hajime has no idea what is going on, but even he feels anticipation crawling under his skin like ants.And then it starts.Low accords are being played on a guitar, monotonously repeating themselves and then someone starts singing.“Red cups and sweaty bodies everywhere.”Fitting, is all Hajime can think of and he recognizes what they are covering.





	Can't You See It's We Who Own The Night?

**Author's Note:**

> Just something small I wrote for [Noel's paintings.](http://noel-ish.tumblr.com/post/172302210509/summer)
> 
> Ispired by [Bastille's cover of We Can't Stop.](http://https://youtu.be/7GC719rnyBo)
> 
> Enjoy and don't be an asshole, leave a kudo or comment. AND look at Noel's beautiful paintings which inspired me.   
> <3

Hajime doesn’t want to be here. He hates parties. All kinds of parties. 

And this one seems like the party of a cult, he is currently crashing.

But he may be here for the free alcohol. After all he’s seventeen and broke. 

They are all nearly dressed the same: Black clothes. At least one piece they are wearing is black. All of them fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. 

And Hajime fits in just fine. 

He knows that no one recognizes him, they know that this is the first time he’s here. But there are no vicious glances or hushed whispers. They smile at him, and maybe he’s crazy, but it seems supportive in a way. 

No special decorations, no lights glistening between trees. Just an old cabin that looks like it was built by five year olds has fairy lights around it, so even the drunkest people can find it, and a campfire in front of it. There’s also a lake and Hajime doubts it’s a good idea to bring dozens of drunk people here. 

Someone sneaks up to him, pushes a red cup with god knows what into his hand, and disappears into the darkness again.

Rationality screams at him to just put it down, but curiosity tackles it and rips it apart. 

He raises the cup to smell on the liquor and the biting in his nose can’t mean anything other than that it’s vodka with orange juice. Lots of vodka, judging by the after burn in his nose. 

He takes a sip and immediately twists his face up. It’s disgusting. 

He takes another sip. 

The last rays of the sun dance through the leaves and twigs of the trees, dimming everything in a bronze hue. 

He wanders around, maybe seeming a little lost. Watches people interact with one another, dance, talk, flirt. Every once in a while he takes another sip.

He breathes the fresh air in and is more than lucky to be able to not breath polluted city air for once.

The lake is a mesmerizing picture. Lights dancing over small waves caused by the breeze that’s also combing through his hair. It’s like a loving embrace. He closes his eyes and just takes everything in until he feels like falling to the side, even though he’s standing upright. 

How much did he drink already?

Bees are swarming through his head, threatening to break out through his ears. The loud music coming from seemingly all around him only makes matters worse. 

Too eccentric, too fast, too many beat drops. 

He needs far more alcohol to start indulging this. 

A simple question pops up in his head and the bees all die. 

Why am I even here? 

There’s a simple answer too. 

Because Kuroo said this is a place for “people like them”. 

Hajime doesn’t know what he means by that, but he’s too curious to pass the chance of finding out. 

Now, he stands in the middle of a party where the first people are already passed out and Hajime doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

He traces the rings on the cup he’s holding while watching the scenery. 

It’s like a huge orgy. Kissing people are everywhere. Some look like they are about to have sex right on spot to third. Or maybe even more. 

What is this place? 

The sun isn’t even fully down and people are already passed out, jumping each other like rabid animals. 

What did Kuroo get him into? 

Hajime spins around, finally having a mission, something to do: He needs to find the fucker. 

He graces the spit exchanging people with one last look and just hopes he won’t find Kuroo in a situation like this. He scrunches his face up at the pure thought. 

Kuroo is a private person, maybe he’s hiding somewhere around the lake? But Kuroo is also like a cat and tries his best to get as far away from water as possible.

Hajime once called him hydrophobe. Kuroo didn’t even deny, he just kept smiling into the sun. 

So he has to be in the cabin.

Slowly, and already a little unsteady, he wanks over the pebbles guiding the way. The crunching sound beneath his feet seems louder than anything else. 

He passes people he’s never seen in his whole life. Moving their bodies to the rhythm of what they consider music. Hazey, dorky smiles are plasterer onto their faces. Hajime can sense that their heads are currently filled with cotton. They don’t have a single care. He can see it in the glistening honesty behind their eyes. 

He’s jalouse. 

Shaking his head, as if he wouldn’t do the same if he could, he continues his way towards the wooden building that’s looking like it’s straight out of a horror movie. Or at least a thriller. 

He can already hear the screams of the teenagers that just wanted to have a good time, but instead got a butcher knife in their guts. 

Hajime can see that it was small, maybe 10cm², at first. But someone started to care for the thing. There are so many different kinds of wood nailed to the base cabin. Hajime didn’t even know there were so many kinds of trees. Every plank reflects the fairy lights differently and it’s a beautiful, maybe a little askew, mosaic. 

Now he can see why people want to come here. 

He walks up the wooden stairs, already bent from all kinds of people stepping onto them. The door is wide open and even in there are people rummaging around. 

Hajime just sees strands of black, denying gravity, towering over everyone else and yes, he found Kuroo. 

Making his way through the crowd is harder than it seems. He got groped approximately four times, be it on purpose or not, he doesn’t know, slapped or somehow beaten six times and got drinks spilled over himself maybe nine times. By the time he reaches Kuroo he just wants to turn around again and go home.

That was enough physical contact for a year. 

“I knew you would come,” Kuroo mentions with a shady smile Hajime just wants to punch it off his face. Kuroo makes a leap and slides gracefully over the countertop, he’s been standing behind mere seconds ago. 

He throws a limb arm around Hajime and leans in. His hot breath tickling the hairs in Hajime’s nape, “people always come for me.” 

He states and leans out of Hajime’s reach, knowing he would get punched otherwise. 

“You wish,” is all Hajime has to offer before shrugging the tallers arm off, “I should have known my drink came from you. No one mixes vodka and orange juice like you do.” 

With trained movements, Kuroo jerks away from him, reaches over the counter top and pulls something over. 

It’s another cup filled with whatever Kuroo thought would be funny. Hajime can feel his scowl starting to carve itself into his skin. 

Kuroo just wiggles the drink in front of his face and Hajime takes it begrudgingly. That’s the reason he came for, after all. 

He tastes it and it’s not as bad as the vodka with orange juice before. Hajime just shrugs, maybe Kuroo isn’t that bad at being a bartender as he assumed firstly. 

“Why did you even want me to come? This seems like an exclusive place,” he asks Kuroo after they managed to get out of the cabin again. 

The shift in the air causes Hajime to take a deep breath, get some oxygen into his blood again. His head isn’t spinning, he doesn’t see double and walking isn’t a problem. Great. 

Kuroo just nods curtly, his expression not giving anything away as his eyes roam over the lake, which now has torches around it, Hajime still doesn’t think that’s safer, but ok.

“You can’t get into here if you aren’t invited, and you need someone to watch over you. As you see, I’m not doing a great job at that.”

Kuroo’s cheshire grin is back being plastered onto his face. God, how Hajime hates it. 

“Again, why am I here?” 

They are wandering, seemingly, aimlessly around.

But they come to a halt beside an old oak tree, Kuroo leans leisurely against it and watches everything with a knowing smirk. 

Hajime is plainly confused. A crowd of people is gathered behind the campfire, waiting anticipated for something.

His first thought is, that they are going to sacrifice a lamb or something. It does look like the meeting place of a cult here after all, sue him. 

There is one thing that grasps attention like nothing else, silence. 

The music turns out and the only things you can hear is the crackling of the campfire and the buzzing of bugs searching for light.

Hajime has no idea what is going on, but even he feels anticipation crawling under his skin like ants.

And then it starts. 

Low accords are being played on a guitar, monotonously repeating themselves and then someone starts singing. 

“Red cups and sweaty bodies everywhere.” 

Fitting, is all Hajime can think of and he recognizes what they are covering. 

Miley Cyrus’ We Can’t Stop. 

A chorus of “hell, no” echoes through the woods as if everyone was prepared for the song. 

Hajime is a fan of Rock, Metal maybe Hip Hop, but Miley Cyrus? That’s taking it a bit too far. Just as he wants to start complaining to Kuroo about it, he really listens. 

There is so much emotions layered in, Hajime guesses his, voice and it’s drowning out everything around him, holding him in a vice grip. Layers of delight with some dread under it.

Everyone knows he means what he sings. It’s not just covering a song and being good at that. It’s feeling a song and sharing it with others. 

The atmosphere is perfect. The song being accompanied by the crackling of the fire and the silhouettes of the trees and the faint light creeping on the ground are plainly perfect.

The hook starts to kick in and Hajime is sure he’s never heard anything more beautiful.

He wants to see him.

From the corner of his eye, he glances at Kuroo who’s already staring at him for who knows how long. He just nods smiling and Hajime leaps off. He must look like a child on christmas morning. 

With elbows and “sorries” he fights his way through the crowd until he’s in front of him. 

A boy, most likely his age, is sitting in front of him on a huge log that has the same color as the tufts of curls framing his face.

Hajime watches intently how emotions flicker over his perfect features, being accented by faint fairy lights. 

He’s beautiful. Plainly, beautiful. Hajime lacks the words to describe exactly why, but he thinks he would be a god in greece.

An old guitar is resting on his lap. It looks like a really old model, one that isn’t being produced anymore. Delicate fingers dance over the strings, tugging at one after the other and Hajime doesn’t understand music anymore. 

He notices the hint of a smile pulling at the corner of the singers mouth every time he’s at the end of the refrain again. 

People around him are just swaying to the music, many of them have their eyes closed. Most of them are too drunk to do anything other after all. 

Hajime notices that some of the passed out people are conscious again and started mingling with the group. 

Music is magic after all. 

The stranger opens one eye, looking directly at Hajime who is just stunned. He can feel the heat in his cheeks from either the alcohol or him and his heart rate speeds up.

Fires are flashing behind his eyes, seemingly dancing to the song. Hajime just wants to know which color they have or if there are always flames frolicking in them. 

The song ends with low vocals full of ups and downs. It sounds emotionally drained. Everyone erupts in cheers and clapping. Hajime, of course too stunned to function, only stares. 

The singer manages to let an actual happy party song sound like one of the saddest, most desperate songs ever. 

Like a genius of sadness. 

He smiles at Hajime, brighter than the fire behind them. Then he starts packing his guitar away. 

That’s when drunk people start slurring words in protest. The guitarist just smiles and puts the instrument back into the coffin. 

“Come on T. One more,” someone from the back shouts. 

T. That’s a starting point. 

“I’m sorry, guys. But you know that it’s always just one song.” 

His words drip out of his mouth like honey and his voice nothing like the one he has when he sings. But it’s touching him all the same.

Again, roars of protest echo through the woods, but slowly everyone starts to scatter around again until there’s just Hajime left and the cackling of the fire. 

“What are you waiting for?” T asks, his head askew and curiosity barely caged in his already huge eyes.

They are brown like a dying sun, melted chocolate and like caramel. Hajime doesn’t understand how his eyes can be all of the above, but it’s true. 

“For you, I guess,” Hajime answers bluntly without overthinking. He blames the alcohol. 

T’s eyes widen even wider and there’s a spark flashing up in them. Then his expression shifts to something Hajime can just describe as cautious. 

“Why?” his eyebrows are furrowed, his lower lip sticking out as he scanns Hajime with sharp eyes.

Hajime knows this trick. He’s playing cute and innocent when in reality he’s analysing you, making a profile of you the FBI couldn’t nail any better.

Hajime shrugs,“You’re interesting.”

“Follow me,” he answers and all caution has vanished from his features. 

T picks his coffin up and wants to throw it over his shoulder, but Hajime stops him and takes it himself, willing to carry it. 

T just stares at him for a minute before smiling and bowing down, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and picking up some green old blankets that have a chance of being older than both of them added up. Hajime hasn’t even noticed them before. The world could have ended, he wouldn’t have noticed. 

They wander off into the direction of the lake. On their way, T often stops them in their tracks to stride over to the passed out people. He takes one of the fuzzy blankets and wraps them into it. Lastly, he takes a bottle of water out of his backpack and lays one down beside them. 

He’s doing it with a sad smile and something in Hajime clicks. 

“Since when do you throw these parties?” he asks into the night. 

He humms.

“A long time. Two years maybe? Every month I throw one. But they haven’t been like that in the beginning. We all grew up.” 

T looks lost. He’s just skimming through the knee high grass while the moonlight illuminates his most prominent features, letting him seem like straight out of a movie. 

And Hajime realizes that he doesn’t look lost at all. He’s just enjoying the moment. The weeds tickling his skin, the moonlight in his eyes and the breeze rushing around him. 

As it seems, T does have a plan. There’s a huge sheet strained between two trees, a hammock. T shrugs his backpack off and takes the coffin from Hajime. He lays it down and opens it, carefully taking his guitar out. 

Like a child he throws himself onto the sheet, leaving it to swing between the trees. Lazily, he tugs at the strings while looking at Hajime with a gaze that says everything. 

He moves towards the sheet and climbs up, laying down beside T. 

Physics does it’s job and pushes them closer to each other so they are side pressed to side. Hajime doesn’t complain. 

When he looks up to the sky, leaves and twigs prevent him from seeing the stars. But there is a hole in the whole complexity through which moonlight shines through and you can see the stars perfectly. It’s beautiful, but Hajime can’t keep himself from staring at T. 

“Why are you doing all this?” he asks carefully. 

T stops pulling at the strings.

For a moment everything is silent. There is just the faint sound of cicadas. He hears T taking a deep breath before answering. 

“So people like me have at least one night every month where they don’t have to be afraid of being who they are, one night where they won’t feel alone. This is a place for forgotten children.” 

Hajime just stares at the stars, at the leaves silently swaying in the night breeze.

“I have a bad relationship with my father. He’s just as hurt as me. Sometimes I just feel invisible,” T states while raking his arm towards the sky. He musters hid hand with the spread fingers as if expecting the moonlight would plainly shine through him, as if he slowly starts to really believe he’s transparent.

Hajime is a little lost in thoughts, but so glad that T is opening up to him. He should be fair then. 

“I know that feeling. My parents don’t care for what I want, they just want me to take over the family firm and get frustrated and cold as my father. This job will kill me.” 

T looks at him sadly and Hajime can see the gears in his head moving, how he tries to jump to another topic that’s not so sad. 

“The cabin,” T starts, “I got the cabin from my grandfather. He was also the one who taught me how to play instruments and inherited me the guitar,” there’s a fond smile twirling around his lips when he speaks of his grandfather. Hajime notices how he absentmindedly strokes the guitar, “he’s already with my mother.” 

Hajime wouldn’t have understood what he meant without the bitter undertone in his voice.

“They would be proud of you. You are doing a good thing here, watching over everyone.”

T smiles and looks at him, a silent “thank you” written in his eyes. 

Hajime smiles too. There is a weird inner urge that wants to know more about this boy. 

“What’s your name?” 

T looks at him as if he asked him what color his hair is. As if it’s the most obvious thing. Hajime rolls his eyes, “I mean your real name. And not just the first letter or whatever.” 

“Why would you want to know?” he asks while getting up and embedding the guitar back into the coffin. 

This time he crawls cautiously onto the hammock. He’s balancing on all fours, his face hanging a few inches over Hajime’s. The moonlight lights up the back of his head,letting him seem like a celestial creature and Hajime can’t resist. He raises an arm and buries his hand in the brown tufts that are as soft as they seem.

T jerks back a little only to find his composure again and lean into the touch, closing his eyes.

Wind blows through the leaves, through their hair, playing their own melodie to which the world sways. 

He opens his eyes again, they are heavily lidded and Hajime has truly never seen something as beautiful as him. 

“Tooru,” he whispers while coming closer. 

“That’s a beautiful name, don’t hide it,” Hajime says smiling brightly and Tooru does so too. 

“Hajime,” he hushes out before their lips meet. 

Tooru is now grasping the collar of Hajime’s jacket, desperately trying to pull him closer.

The kiss feels like coming home, as if Hajime just found a part of himself he has lost years ago without noticing, because he has adjusted to the gaping hole inside of him. 

They separate and Tooru is glowing down at him and Hajime knows he’s thinking the same. 

He may glow too, but it’s not as bright as Tooru. Nothing can reach up to him.

They kiss again, 

and again,

and again until the first rays of sunlight filter through Tooru’s hair, letting his eyes glisten like burning embers.


End file.
